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STAR

Troy held out a hand for Anton to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

My lips curved at her unusually polite tone. “Troy was in my unit with me, Anton. Same as Dead To Me. Before everything went to shit.”

“For both of us,” Troy retorted.

“Oh, I know,” I countered easily, tumbling back onto the couch so I was eye-level with Lyra who was hiding at Troy’s side. “Are you going to meet, Anton, Lyra?” I asked, tone kind. “He’s been waiting a long time to meet you.”

Troy patted her head. “She’s nervous.”

“I am also nervous, Lyra.” Anton heaved a heavy breath as he sank onto the couch beside me.

A couch that had taken D, Troy, and me to edge into place yesterday when we’d helped move her in.

As he settled on the seat, his suit jacket rode up, revealing a large scar on his wrist that appeared to run vertically along his forearm.

Suicide?

Perhaps.

The thick rope of pink flesh was old and slightly faded, but still raised.

Like always, there was the faintest delay before Lyra carefully enunciated, “Why are you nervous?”

“Because I think if I say anything to upset you, Troy will make me regret the day I was born.”

Lyra peeped out from behind Troy’s fatigues. “When were you born?”

“A very long time ago.”

“I can count to five hundred.”

“Are you that old, Anton?”

He shot me a dour look. “No, Star. I’m not five hundred. Not yet.”

My lips twitched. “He’s ancient, but not that ancient, Lyra. You don’t have to be frightened of him. He’ll crumble to dust if he scares you.”

“Charming, Star,” was Anton’s droll retort. Then, he reached into his pocket. “I knew your father, Lyra.”

“You did?” she asked slowly.

“His name was Aleks.”

Lyra moved her face away from Troy’s pants entirely and her lips formed the name before she repeated it aloud. “Aleks.”

“Do you remember him?”

She hid behind Troy again, leaving her to answer, “She was only a toddler when he passed away.”

Anton held out a picture. I studied it from the corner of my eye, taken aback to see Aleks and a much younger version of my mom, though she was definitely the older sibling. It was only then that I realized a bizarre truth.

“When was Mom born?”

Anton frowned at me, clearly startled by the question. “1957.”

My mouth rounded as I learned about yet another of her lies—her age. Slow to process that, I didn’t realize the conversation had changed course until Troy growled, “I don’t need your charity.”

Cutting her a look, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

Just as Lyra tugged on Troy’s pants, querulously asking, “Mom?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” she said to my cousin. To me, she bit off, “Your grandfather says this apartment is for me and Lyra to live in full-time.”

I arched a brow at this news but shrugged. “I live in this building with Kat and Conor.”

“Then I will have one of two guest rooms in which to stay when I visit New York, da ?” was Anton’s placid retort.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said with a sniff.

“I don’t need your charity,” Troy repeated.

“You lost your sanctuary because of the Sparrows because you saved my granddaughter for the second time in her short life. If you think that doesn’t deserve gratitude?—”

“She saved her three times.”

Anton frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Lyra was injured in the car accident that…” My gaze clashed with his. He nodded his understanding of precisely which car accident I was talking about without needing to say it in front of the traumatized little girl. “…and she needed medical care.”

“The only way I can show you the depth of my gratitude, Troy, is to help you now. This is not charity. This is thanks.”

“I did it for neither. You can thank me by letting me raise her the way I have been doing?—”

“Have I not promised you this already?”

“You have,” Troy groused.

“And are you not in need of somewhere to live?”

“I suppose,” was her glum retort. “My bees are in more need than we are.”

“Rest assured, they’re safe. I asked a friend who dabbles in honey to care for them until you can make more permanent arrangements.”

She appeared unconvinced. “Dabbles in honey?”

“Harrow’s Bees.”

Recognition flared to life in her expression. “They’re good people.”

“Indeed,” he drawled. "Anyway, would you not like to be close to Star?”

She sniffed. “Not particularly.” When I rolled my eyes and Anton hid a laugh, she grumbled, “I guess we could stay here until I make other arrangements.”

“That would please me greatly.” To Lyra, Anton asked, “Would you like to stay close to Star too?”

She gave him a timid nod and peeked at me, her shyness returning.

“Then it’s settled,” I said, a note of finality to my words. “Lyra’s going to Velcro herself to me so that she can stay close at all times.”

When she giggled, Anton’s face lit up with a smile. Once he inquired after the book she had tucked against her chest and Lyra, in her slow and cautious manner, explained what it was about, Troy and I shared a glance—just like I’d told her, I’d kept my promise.

Lyra was, and always would be, her kid.